Overhead, A Little to the Left
by jazzforthecaptain
Summary: The Doctor and Company saved London at Christmas again, now the only thing left is to get everyone home again. Given that 'everyone' happens to mean Captain Jack Harkness is aboard, it's bound to include the usual shenanigans.


"Come on now, no dawdling! You've not been inexcusably stupid _yet,_ now would be an inconvenient time," the Doctor herded his crack troops to the TARDIS door like a grumpy sheepdog. Clara held the door for them, wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the parade as it jogged into the control room.

Sam and Dean Winchester had the lead, followed by a particularly hassled-looking Castiel. Tailing them were Madame Vastra and Jenny Flint, Martha Jones(who shared a grin with Clara as she trotted by), and a redheaded woman in a rainbow plaid shirt and a "Lumberjanes" tee shirt(who shot Clara a completely _different_ flavor of grin).

And wasn't _she_ a bit of all right, then?

What? Clara was allowed to look, thank you _very_ much. Especially if who she was looking at happened to have her hair braided up like a fairytale princess, and was looking at Clara like she might be responsible for a constellation.

Bringing up the rear was Captain Jack Harkness, whom Clara only recognized from the TARDIS index up until now. He looked out of sorts, which seemed to be his default ever since he'd arrived. Clara wasn't sure, but she considered herself a decent judge of people, and Captain Harkness had a face like lit dynamite anytime he so much as looked at the Doctor. It put her back up, made her want to find an excuse to separate them - and she usually could.

Finally, the door slammed shut, and the Doctor legged it around the console, double time, to get her in the air. The control room rocked and everyone grabbed for the railings, as the TARDIS whooshed and vworped until they'd left the Twenty-Eighth Century Christmas Eve far behind. Together, they'd saved the day again.

"Now here's the tricky bit," the Doctor said, as the floor settled under their feet again.

When he didn't elaborate, Clara asked, "What's that then?"

"Putting you all back where you came from, and keeping you _out of trouble_ until then!"

* * *

Two hours later, Castiel was fairly certain he was being stalked.

Their first stop was Paternoster Row in Eighteenth Century London, which was a fair jaunt from their current location. In spite of the Doctor's initial statement, he ignored most of them almost completely afterward. As a result, a party mood struck up between the rest of the group, as new friends were introduced, and old friends reunited. The TARDIS herself even got in on the act; between one blink and another, the control room was decked out in holiday lights, garland, mistletoe and red foil ribbons. It was all gorgeously tacky, and strikingly human of her.

Charlie, Castiel noted with pleasure, was tucked in on the stairs with Clara at her side, deeply involved in an animated conversation that seemed to bring her incrementally closer with every line.

The Winchesters were all but attached at the hip, but seemed at ease as long as they stayed close in one another's company. Together with Martha and Jack, they pestered Vastra and Jenny with questions about their seemingly interminable array of weapons. As Castiel watched, Jenny demonstrated a maneuver with her rapier in slow motion, with Vastra at the ready to explain the details.

It left Castiel a little off to one side, but he didn't mind. Early on in his life, Castiel's prime directive was observation; he liked watching people.

Not so much when the situation was reversed. There'd been eyes on him all evening, though every time he'd tried to catch whoever was at it, he'd missed. Maybe it was the TARDIS, having caught on to his dislike of Time Lords. The Doctor was _less_ repugnant, but still an insouciant meddler, still an arrogant, selfish child with a fascinating toy.

Castiel was just introspective enough these days to recognize the irony in that statement, and smile to himself over it. And there were the eyes again, the sense of being watched.

He pulled his gaze from the Doctor at his controls, turning back to see how his Winchesters were doing - and caught the culprit.

Jack.

Castiel locked eyes with him over the sea of people. Jack glanced away, then back, a slow smile lightning up his face as they watched one another. Something more complex than this, and Castiel might have misunderstood. His experience with human flirtation ritual was small and primarily limited to watching Dean and Sam. But this? Jack's intent was loud and clear, even more obvious as he detached himself from the little group to join Castiel on the opposite side of the room.

Swallowing nervously, Castiel watched him come. Interested women, he'd encountered. But Jack's attention was like the sun, getting stronger as he came closer until Castiel could almost feel it on his skin.

And then he _could_ feel it. Jack's hand came up underneath his, lifting his fingers with the lightest touch to kiss his knuckles. And oh, that had never, ever happened before. Castiel stared, attention divided between the lips on his skin and the mischief in the merry blue eyes gazing up at him.

"I don't think we got a proper introduction," Jack said, "Captain Jack Harkness. And you are… Castiel, right?"

"Jack," came a warning voice from the TARDIS control console. Castiel started guiltily, tearing his attention from Jack's eyes to follow the voice to its source.

Jack groaned. " _Really?_ "

I don't mind, Castiel thought at first. In fact, the words nearly made it out of his mouth. And then he found himself wondering - who _exactly_ was the Doctor trying to warn off? And if the Doctor was, indeed, cautioning Jack against _him_ , well.

Screw that.

Castiel reached for the proverbial bull by its proverbial horns, and yanked. He couldn't remember _all_ of humanity's ridiculous Christmastime rituals and myths, but he could certainly remember the Winchesters'.

"Oh look," Castiel said dryly, "mistletoe." He closed his fingers around Jack's hand, pulled him close, and kissed him in one fluid motion.

Castiel's intent to give the Doctor what-for lasted all of point-two seconds. Then it was forgotten, and the Doctor's glare, and the whistles, and Dean's bewildered 'what the hell?' were all lost in the background noise.

In his defense, there _had_ really been mistletoe.

In the room.

Somewhere.


End file.
